


Gently Worn

by ItsClydeBitches



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Can totally be read as one-sided Ed/Jim too, Christmas, Fluff, Gen, Holidays, M/M, Presents, Sweaters, or 'omg someone might be my friend', or just hero worship, whatever you prefer lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-05
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-09-06 15:08:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8757493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItsClydeBitches/pseuds/ItsClydeBitches
Summary: Ed has gifts for the precinct and Jim takes a walk with Oswald. He honestly wasn't expecting those two things to connect. 
Written for the Gobblepot Winter 2016 prompt "Christmas Sweaters"





	

Ed walked into the precinct with a mega-watt smile, an oversized tote, two cups of coffee, and a sweater so objectively hideous that Jim did a literal double take, wondering if his recent lack of sleep had left him hallucinating.

 

“Yeah,” Harvey drawled. “Welcome to Christmas in Gotham.”

 

He didn’t get the chance to grill Harvey about that little statement because just a second later pandemonium started up, at least the kind that cops tended to create: snide comments and complex, obscene gestures. Ed had set down his things and had begun pulling more hideous sweaters from his bag, happily fostering them off on the very unwilling officers. No sooner would he relinquish them then the god-awful clothing was disposed of. Some of the guys just tossed them onto the edge of their desks with a monotone ‘... great, Nygma,” letting the fabric balance there on top of the paperwork. Others were more openly cruel, slam dunking them into the wastebaskets or loudly joking about how they finally had new toilet paper for the downstairs bathroom. Only one person—Officer Campbell, Jim took note—kept hers for more than a millisecond, and that was so she could ‘model’ is sarcastically, drawing a loud laugh from her friend group. It was like goddamn high school again and Ed weathered it all with a resigned, desperately haughty air.

 

“He’s done this before,” Jim said, mostly to himself.

 

Harvey toasted him. “Look at those detective skills. Yep. Every damn year. Captain asked him about it once and he rattled off some shit about traditions fostering community, how ugly sweaters represent a particularly fascinating genre of humor and humor is _so_ very important—” It was clear Harvey was quoting most of it from memory, including some exaggerated air-quotes for good measure. “Personally I think he actually _likes_ the damn things. He’s certainly weird enough for it.”

 

Jim found himself agreeing. Ed was up in the Captain’s office now, shaking a tinsel-laden sweater in her face. She took it with a strained expression and he skittered back out—heading their way. It seemed like one second Jim was watching Essen discreetly stuff the gift into the lowest drawer of her desk, the next Ed was right in front of him, his own blazing green sweater just a foot from Jim’s face.

 

There was a red question mark on it.

 

“Detective,” he said, smiling slowly. “Do you know what the worst thing about sweaters is?”

 

“That yours are butt ugly,” Harvey muttered and then let out a yelp when Jim kicked him under the desk.

 

He mustered up a wane smile for Ed. “They stink—given that sweaters are people who sweat.”

 

And damn if that wasn’t pathetic, how thrilled Ed got whenever Jim answered one of his riddles correctly. Or hell, even made a half-hearted attempt at a guess. He didn’t seem to care that riddles were one of the few pastimes Jim had in the army and that the only ones he could ‘solve’ were those he’d heard before. All he needed to do nowadays was bother to _look_ at Ed when he spoke to him and the man got as excited as... well, a kid at Christmas.

 

Frankly, looking around the precinct it wasn’t hard to see why.

 

“Correct!” Ed paused only to clap wildly before diving back into his bag. He tossed a brown sweater at Harvey indifferently, but Jim’s he unfolded with care, presenting the unsightly artifact with more solemnity than it or Jim deserved.

 

It was... perhaps not the worst of the bunch. Bright red of course, white stitching, though the pattern reminded Jim of the Icelandic cardigan a teacher of his had once owned, complete with circular yoke. The rest of it was busy enough to make Jim’s eyes hurt and—oh god—he could feel thin wires imbedded in the sides.

 

Ed nodded spastically. “It lights up when you press right _here_ —”

 

“Thank you, Ed.” Jim managed to stop his hand just in time, pulling the sweater out of reach. “I’ll... play it when we’re not at work. And, uh, yeah. Thanks again. Means a lot.”

 

It wasn’t the first time he noticed that Ed didn’t pick up on tone. The words alone were more than enough. Ed let off a little salute at the praise, surprisingly set his second coffee next to Jim’s computer, and gave him the most awkward shoulder pat Jim had ever received. Then Ed was gone, quick as he’d arrived.

 

“You never bring me coffee!” Harvey hollered after him. He shook his head. “Fuck he’s weird. Just burn the sweater for fuel, that’s what I do. Or better yet: free napkin,” and Harvey made a show of pretending to tuck the brown monstrosity into his shirt.

 

Jim knew he didn’t mean anything by it. Not really. Harvey had a strange relationship with Ed, almost sibling like, in which he’d be as cruel as he wanted, but would ultimately step in if anyone else took it too far. Maybe that was it then. The fact that Harvey apparently thought that everything going on below wasn’t ‘bad’ enough to intervene that set Jim’s teeth on edge and forced him to stand.

 

“Where you going?”

 

Nowhere. Jim shrugged off his jacket and—before he could think better of it—slipped the sweater over his head and sat back down.

 

Harvey had immediately slapped a hand over his mouth, snorting. Jim caught what sounded like ‘boy scout’ before it all became incomprehensible chortling.

 

“Laugh it up,” Jim said easily, bending back over his paperwork. He could feel the burn of embarrassment though, creeping along his back and sides, right underneath the sweater. By now the others below had started to take notice. Most just snickered along with Harvey, but Jim was pleased to see that others, including Officer Campbell, began to shoot guilty looks between them. They didn’t follow his lead and don the sweaters themselves, but they did fold them neatly and put them away. Slowly, everyone got back to work.

 

The real reward though was Ed. Five minutes later he came power walking out of the records room and Jim caught the exact moment he stopped dead, catching sight of him. The grin that broke over Ed’s face was nearly manic in its intensity and shit, wasn’t that what Christmas was all about? Maybe?

 

“You’re a crazy nutter,” Harvey said. “I should lock you up in Arkham.”

 

Jim found that he couldn’t disagree, especially when he accidentally leaned against his desk and a sudden, blaring version of “Jingle Bell Rock” sounded out from his chest.

 

“I can kill you,” he said as Harvey spazzed and fell to the floor, laughing loud enough to (thankfully) drown out the music.

 

***

 

Jim lasted another hour before the embarrassment, sporadic music, and itchiness of the sweater’s collar got the best of him. He tore it off before getting lunch and tossed it over the back of his chair. He dragged the thing home (ignoring looks from strangers on the street) and packed it away in his closet, where he had every intention of leaving it until... whenever.

 

Only problem was, “whenever” came much sooner than expected. On December 23rd.

 

“ _Detective!_ ”

 

He paused in the act of handing the street vender his money, closing his eyes. The guy knew Jim pretty well. He had a good set up here—decent coffee as well as an assortment of snacks, whirring space heaters to keep him going through the winter months—and thus they’d seen enough of one another to have at least a passing acquaintance. He thus slipped the bill out of Jim’s numb hand before giving it a quick pat.

 

“You okay there, bud?” he asked.

 

Jim opened his eyes. “Peachy,” he muttered and turned to face his fate.

 

Because that’s honestly what it felt like. Oswald Cobblepot was and always would be fate itself, barreling towards Jim with all the subtly of a freight train. He cut quite the figure moving through the slush of Gotham’s sidewalk, huffing and puffing as he hurried on, making a surprising amount of progress given his leg. People either skittered out of his way or were forcibly shoved aside and Jim wasn’t sure what to make of the fact that Oswald, normally so prim and proper, was now being unimaginably _rude_ just to get at him.

 

Jim took a sip of his coffee. Though, somehow, he was already feeling pretty warm.

 

“Cobblepot,” he said the second Oswald came into earshot.

 

“Detective Gordon.”

 

They’d actually moved beyond last names months ago. Every since Oswald had taken control of Fish’s club there’d been a complex, unspoken promise between them: they’d each do their jobs, though preferably in a way that didn’t end with one of them in jail or at the bottom of a river. Oswald kept to the ruthless techniques required of the mob, though now his ministrations resulted in broken bones instead of corpses. Jim never turned a blind eye, but his arrests were always focused on those just one step higher on the ladder than the strange snitch that everyone knew was involved. Oswald passed him information. Jim pulled some legal, yet discomforting favors to get Oswald the connections he needed for running a club, preferably without blood on the walls. Jim wasn’t sure if they could keep this up, or what would happen if Oswald ever really did become the self-proclaimed “King of Gotham,” but for now they were meeting somewhere in the middle—or rather, slightly more on Jim’s side than anywhere else.

 

Hence the names. It wouldn’t do for people to think they were too comfortable with one another.

 

The look Oswald gave Jim summed up exactly what he thought of this charade.

 

They moved though, away from the prying eyes of the venders, the chaotic bustle outside the precinct, and slowly Jim felt the tension ebbing out of his shoulders. He let Oswald set the pace and he led them into a nicer section of Gotham than Jim had grown used to. The whole street was decked out in fairy lights and wreaths. There was fake snow in every shop window and kid with a bell on each street corner. Well-dressed pedestrians decided, hey, I’ll give here even though I refuse to give anywhere else. Jim thought that this was the sort of district that Oswald was well-suited for: somehow flashy and unremarkable all at once; chipper... but with an undercurrent of falsehood. Like the pretty picture could be slashed apart with one barely sharpened knife.

 

“You’re rather pensive today, friend.” Oswald said. He side-eyed Jim, moving a little closer as he did so. “Something on your mind?”

 

Jim kept his gaze firmly on the people ahead of them. “What did you want, Cobblepot?”

 

Oswald laughed, a little titling thing that sounded a lot like those bells. “Why, _this_.” He gestured between them. “You always assume I want something... nefarious from you, Jim. Is it my fault if I took advantage of your paranoia? Really,” he shrugged, the movement awkward with his gait. “If you’d bothered to ask me that two blocks back you might have saved yourself a trip.”

 

Jim ground his teeth. Thought about just turning around and leaving Oswald here... but did he really have anywhere else to be? He’d finished his shift, the last before the holidays (at Essen’s insistence. She claimed that her Christmas gift to him was forcing Jim to take his vacation days). Dad was gone, Mom was staying in Metropolis, no extended family to speak of, Barbara taking her ‘break’... as annoying as it was to wander aimlessly with Oswald Cobblepot of all people, the idea of just returning to his empty apartment sent Jim’s stomach into turmoil. Besides, maybe if he played along with this little outing he’d earn up a few more favors for the New Year.

 

At least, that’s what Jim told himself.

 

The strange thing was, they didn’t actually _do_ anything. As soon as it was clear that Jim wasn’t going to bolt Oswald had lit up like the proverbial Christmas tree, assuring him that he was more than pleased to just explore the town together. And it seemed like he really was. Pleased, that is. They wandered past shop after shop, but Oswald didn’t drag him into any and risk overstepping some boundary. There were gorgeous decorations everywhere, but Oswald seemed perfectly happy to keep sneaking looks at Jim. There was even a moment where he thought he saw beat cops he knew up ahead and Jim hurried his pace to create some distance between them. It was a false alarm, though Oswald didn’t seem to begrudge him the action when Jim slowly settled back at his side.

 

They’d been walking nearly twenty minutes when there was... something in Oswald’s gait. He didn’t hesitate exactly, nor did he stop, but there was some kind of definite movement caused Jim to look back at the store they’d just passed. It seemed like just an ordinary department store and for the life of him he couldn’t figure out why Oswald would be interested in it—which he was, despite the way he was now deliberately staring at the decorative Santa across the street.

 

“You do have a knack for these things,” Oswald murmured when Jim refused to move on. He stamped his feet against the cold. “Stubborn too...” When Jim still only raised an eyebrow Oswald spread his hands in what he must have thought was a dismissive gesture. “It’s just... well. You’ll think me silly, but that sweater looks quite a lot like the ones my mother knits me around the holidays,” and Oswald suddenly flushed a vibrant red that stood out starkly against the snow. He turned away.

 

Jim looked and sure enough there was a white Christmas sweater hanging on one of the window mannequins, sporting so many cables and bushy yarn that the term ‘busy’ didn’t even begin to cover it. Jim very nearly blurted out how ugly the damn thing was... except yes, he could easily imagine Mrs. Kapelput knitting up something like that for her ‘darling’ son. Stranger still, Jim could somehow imagine Oswald wrapped up in it, the sweater long enough to act as a dress and paired with nothing else but thick, warm socks.

 

The sudden image had Jim blushing too and he bit his lip in frustration.

 

“So get it for her,” he finally said, wanting to move on from... whatever the hell this was. “Surprise her.”

 

But Oswald had started walking again, too fast. “No, no, no. I’m afraid that’s impossible. My newfound status has created the need for some extra security nowadays; precautions and the like. Mother will be spending the holidays in a lovely, warm, and _undisclosed_ location.”

 

Oh.

 

_Oh._

 

Jim wasn’t sure what exactly made the decision for him. Maybe it was that stupid image of Oswald bundled up in a sweater and socks. Or the soft lighting of the street. Or hell, the pathetic confirmation that Oswald would be spending the holidays alone if he’d really sent his mom into hiding. Whatever it was, Jim found himself striding forward and snagging him by the back of his coat.

 

“Hey!”

 

“C’mon,” he said and started marching them back the way they’d come, Oswald scrambling at his side. He opened his mouth to say something else—

 

“—and just shut the fuck up for once,” Jim growled.

 

Amazingly, Oswald did.

 

He kept silent as they searched for a cab and drove all the way to Jim’s apartment. There was blessed silence as they managed the stairs, Jim’s sticky door, and shuffled into the bedroom. At this point Jim knew Oswald must have been nearly bursting with commentary, but he ignored him. Instead, Jim rustled around in his closet until he found the sweater Ed had given him.

 

“Here,” he snapped, practically shoving it in Oswald’s face. When he just blinked around the shock of red Jim forced it into his arms.

 

“Just take it. You know. Since your mom can’t give you one this year.”

 

“Jim...”

 

He couldn’t give a name to the emotion that had taken hold of Oswald’s face. Shock and awe mixing together, painful gratitude and... something more tender that Jim had no desire to label. Slowly Oswald’s hands uncurled from the death grip they’d had on the fabric and briefly shutting his eyes, he lifted the sweater to his nose to breathe in whatever scent was there. When he was done Oswald folded the sweater into his arms like a beloved, yet temperamental cat.

 

“You are _full_ of surprises,” he said, forcing Jim to look away. “Thank you, old friend. Truly. You’ve caught me unaware though. I’m afraid I don’t have a gift for you—” and Oswald honestly looked stricken. “I didn’t think...”

 

Didn’t think Jim would appreciate getting one. Not from him.

 

“Your gift can be not mentioning this. Ever.” If the order was delivered a little softer than normal, that was just between the two of them. “Beyond that, ‘thanks’ is fine.”

 

“ _Thank you_.”

 

They stood, casting looks at one another, standing a little closer than the situation demanded. Jim was surprised to realize that he was quite satisfied in this moment. His apartment wasn’t empty right now and it certainly didn’t feel cold. There was a breath of peace between him and Oswald and it reverberated with everything you’d expect of the holidays. Warmth. Joy.

 

Love.

 

Then Oswald shifted and a horrible rendition of “Jingle Bell Rock” blared across the apartment.

 

If it were possible, Oswald’s grin became even more blinding. “Well that broke the mood!”

 

Jim slowly shut his eyes.

 

***

 

January 1st and there was a note on Ed’s desk.

 

“Fascinating,” he murmured, picking it up. He briefly let his thumb trace Detective Gordon’s distinct writing before flipping it open, fairly vibrating with excitment.

 

_Nygma,_

_I wanted to thank you again for the gift. Thought you’d appreciate this more than something from a store. Sorry it’s crap._

_Happy holidays,_

_Gordon._

 

_A riddle: I work only for a second, yet I spread gossip all the time. You probably have me, but can buy more of me too—just not in my prime. What am I?_

 

“Second hand,” Ed said quickly, still peering down at the note. “The second hand of a clock. News spread second-hand. Your non-dominant prehensile. Second-hand clothes... hmm. You gave my sweater away, didn’t you, detective?”

 

Ed drummed the table happily and slipped the card into his jacket, directly above his heart.

 

“Then I’ll just have to get you two next year!”

 

**Author's Note:**

> More Gobblepot! I have other fandoms I need to be writing in, but I wanted to contribute at least one thing to the holiday event <3 
> 
> (Also, Jim is god awful at riddles because I'm god awful at riddles. The woes of writing...)


End file.
